Where Darkness Fell
by The Barkeep
Summary: Jack and JJ share a late night conversation about missed opportunities and the game of life. Please, READ and REVIEW!


Where Darkness Fell  
-By Ducky_**  
  
Author's Note: **_Hello, all! This is my first _American Dreams_ fic, so please be kind. It directly follows the last episode, "Great Expectations." I apologize for the plot not being Meg/Luke centric, which seems to be the trend in this fandom. However, I've dared to be different and decided to supply you all with some quite angsty JJ goodness. Please read and review, even if you have an uncontrollable urge to flame me. This ficlet is a one shot deal, but if you like it, I have a few ideas for some full-blown stories, including a Meg/Luke. Let me know if you'd like me to keep writing. Hope you enjoy!  
  
_**Disclaimer:**_ The recognizable characters aren't mine- although I might wish that I could get my hands on JJ- so, for all intents and purposes, we'll just say that they belong to NBC. I'm just borrowing them for my own entertainment. Taking me to court would definitely not be in your best interest. I'm a teenager, I have nothing. The plot, etc. are all mine, so I don't want to see it under anyone else's nom deplume. Ciao!  


* * *

  
Jack Pryor stood silently in the doorjamb of the bedroom that his sons shared. The room was dark, the only light radiating from the half-moon resting beyond the window pane, but the slight shaft of light illuminated the faces of his boys. JJ lay sprawled across his bed, his forehead crinkled in the confusion of a dream. Will had curled into a ball as best he could, his inert little leg limp on the mattress. Jack sighed, eyeing the leather brace that was usually buckled across Will's useless limb.   
  
"I'm sorry, Thrill," Jack whispered to the noiseless room. His eyes rested on a small red cowboy hat, slung across the youngest Pryor's bed knob. That cowboy hat had gone everywhere with Will. It had accompanied him to Patty's First Communion, his first trip to the dentist, and, later on, to the hospital. Will had refused to take off his little cowboy hat nearly every day that he had been in the hospital. The nurses would try to snatch it, the doctors, diplomatically attempt to remove it, but it never budged.   
  
The day Will was fit for his brace, he had stopped wearing his hat. He told Jack that it didn't make a difference anymore, no one had ever seen a crippled cowboy before. Jack had tried to argue, but the hat retired to Will's bed knob, and hadn't been touched since.   
  
Inadvertently, Jack felt a stray tear slip down his face. He took in a jagged breath, clearing his throat.   
  
"Dad?"   
  
Jack jumped, his thoughts interrupted by JJ's groggy voice. He tore his gaze from Will's cowboy hat, and wiped away any signs of emotion.  
  
"JJ," Jack whispered, his voice still slightly choked.   
  
JJ sat up in bed, swiping a lazy hand across his eyes. "What're you doing in here? Is everything okay?"   
  
"Yeah," Jack insisted. "Everything's fine."  
  
"I saw you looking at the hat," JJ replied, nodding towards his younger brother and his infamous head gear.   
  
Jack shrugged. "Oh."   
  
The younger Pryor stared uncomfortably at the carpet. "Look, Dad, I'm sor-"  
  
"JJ, I didn't mean to wake-" Jack began. He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry I woke you."   
  
JJ nodded. He waited awkwardly for a response.   
  
"Are you sure everything's all right? Nothing's wrong?" JJ asked again.   
  
"Look, JJ- do you want to go downstairs and have some coffee or something? There's obviously something you need to talk about."  
  
"Uh, sure. I guess."   
  
JJ studied his father as he slid out of bed. Something was obviously wrong; he hadn't taken to watching his children sleep since Will had been sick.   
  
Jack and JJ trouped silently down the stairs, careful not to disturb the rest of the house. JJ sauntered into the living room, surprised to find the old film projector set up and several reels of memories laying on the coffee table.   
  
"JJ, I'll get us some coffee," Jack offered.   
  
JJ shrugged as Jack headed towards the kitchen. He collapsed on the couch, haphazardly examining the film canisters on the table. Each was carefully labeled in his mother's tidy handwriting: _Family Reunion, 1962_; _Patty's First Communion_; _Will's 3rd Birthday_; _Meg's Grade School Graduation_; _Jack and JJ, Notre Dame, 1960. _ JJ's wandering gaze paused on the last reel. _Jack and JJ, Notre Dame, 1960. _He reached for the short cylinder, prying off the lid, and taking out the film. Carefully, he removed the reel that was already on the projector, and loaded the next.   
  
The projector began to whir, and a thirteen-year-old JJ appeared on the faded screen. He was clad in a worn Notre Dame jersey that Jack had found at some novelty shop, and waving ferociously at the camera. The image jiggled a bit, the silent indication that his father was laughing. The focus shifted from JJ to the gates of the stadium- _the_ stadium- and advanced towards it. JJ watched as the technicolor shadows cut to another shot of his younger self. This time, he was grinning, and jumping around and hollering. Again, the picture danced, and Jack panned to the scoreboard. Touch down, Notre Dame!  
  
A shot of JJ stuffing himself with a relish laden hot dog appeared on the screen. JJ smiled, in spite of himself. He couldn't believe that he had forgotten this.   
  
"That was a good time, wasn't it?" Jack's voice interrupted JJ's reverie.   
  
"Yeah," JJ replied absently.   
  
Jack thrust a cup of coffee at him, and sat down. He watched his son, his eyes darting back and forth between the young man that sat next to him and the little boy, cheering on his team on the lackluster screen. He remembered almost every detail of that day: the smell of the hot dogs, the chill in the air, and JJ, swearing that, one day, he would go to Notre Dame. Jack sighed. They had come _so_ close, and, just like that, JJ had given it up. Nobody in the Pryor family had ever gone to college, much less been accepted to a school like Notre Dame. JJ was supposed to be the one to break the circle.   
  
_He's_ _going to Lehigh_, Jack reminded himself, eyeing his eldest son. _Lehigh is still a great school_.  
  
_But it will never be Notre Dame_.   
  
JJ stared at himself, swimming in that beat-up jersey, a grin still spread ear to ear. Four years ago, he was an innocent kid, wide-eyed and fresh-faced. That was before Beth; before Colleen. He bit his lip, thinking of his fight with Beth earlier that evening. Beth had been nothing but supportive during his indecision about Notre Dame. She had been willing to sacrifice Princeton for JJ. It didn't matter to her that JJ had to forego Notre Dame because of lack of funds. It didn't matter that he was just going to Lehigh. Beth was JJ's rock, his entire body of support, and, now, she was gone, and all because he couldn't keep his hands off of Colleen. This time, JJ wasn't sure if the damage was repairable.   
  
The images began to dim; the care-free boy of thirteen disappeared, the stadium faded into a crackling screen of gray and black. The projector buzzed noisily, and Jack reached over and shut it off.   
  
A minute passed before either of them spoke.  
  
"That was a good time," Jack said hesitantly. JJ appeared to be lost in a world of his own.   
  
"Mmm-hmm," JJ replied.   
  
Jack sighed, "Look, JJ..."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Are you sure you did the right thing?" Jack asked, removing the reel and putting it back in its canister.   
  
"Dad-"  
  
"No, Jack. I want to know. Did you _really_ want to give up Notre Dame?" Jack persisted.   
  
JJ concentrated on the knees of his pajama bottoms. "I-I don't know."   
  
"JJ. JJ, we could have found a way to pay."   
  
JJ shook his head. "I couldn't do that to you, Dad. Besides, what good would it do? I'd be warming the bench and coasting through my classes."   
  
"No son of mine would be warming the bench," Jack began. His mind wandered to Will, but he shrugged the thought away. "No. JJ, you would have _played_. For _Notre Dame_."   
  
"I know, Dad. I- I know, okay?" JJ sighed.   
  
"Look, Jack," the older Pryor paused for a moment. JJ had suddenly grown into his name. "I have you, and I have Thrill. I love you both; you know that, I know you do. But Will-"  
  
JJ interjected. "Will is never going to play football."   
  
"No, he's not."   
  
"Just because he won't be a star running back, it doesn't mean he can't go to Notre Dame."   
  
Jack shook his head. "Just because we're a little tight on money, it doesn't mean that _you_ can't go to Notre Dame."  
  
"I'm sorry, Dad."   
  
"I don't understand how you can just throw awa-"   
  
JJ stood up. "You know what? I'm tired. I think I'm going to go back to bed now. Good night, Dad."  
  
Jack stared at his son. JJ stood, fumbling with the drawstings on his pajama bottoms, staring back at his father. He looked pained, his young face taut, and his blue eyes troubled. Jack sighed.   
  
"All right, JJ. You win," Jack gave in. "Good night."   
  
JJ nodded, starting up the stairs. Half way up to the landing, he turned back, sticking his head back into the living room.   
  
"You're not the only one I let down, you know?" he said. His face disappeared, and Jack heard the faint sound of his feet on the stairs.   
  
JJ walked into his bedroom, entering as silently as he had left. His eyes wandered to his little brother, who was lost somewhere in sleep, his little chest rising rhythmatically. It was true; Will would never play football, but it didn't mean that he wouldn't find _something_ that he was good at. Maybe things would be better for him, because Jack wouldn't have _his_ back up against the wall about Notre Dame. Maybe he would meet a girl like Beth, someone who would love him unconditionally, disregarding his father's modest salary and the brace around his leg.   
  
JJ awkwardly leaned in towards his younger brother, kissing him on the forehead. "Run, Thrill."   
  
Careful not to wake Will, JJ slipped back into his own bed, thinking, for the first time, about what giving up Notre Dame had meant to his father. His thoughts of football and his father faded, and were replaced by thoughts of Beth. She was the only person who believed in him, who put on a good face about Lehigh. Suddenly, she was gone, and JJ wasn't sure if he would be able to salvage the relationship this time. For the first time in two years, he felt alone. Slowly, JJ's thoughts clouded, and he slipped into a fitful sleep.   
  
Jack sat in the darkness, absently sipping his coffee. The images from the projector had already faded, but he could still see JJ, thirteen and smiling; JJ, throwing the winning pass in a championship game that he would never play. His mind wandered to Will, who was already sitting on the sidelines, a dedicated spectator for a sport that wasn't meant to be watched. Jack wasn't a man of faith, he knew, but still, he wondered if this was somehow part of God's plan.   
  
Taking a final sip of his coffee, Jack set the cup down on the table, and put away the film.   
  
_-And the pattern still remains   
On the wall where darkness fell   
And it's fitting that it should   
For in darkness I must dwell   
Like the color of my skin   
Or the day that I grow old   
My life is made of patterns   
That can scarcely be controlled _  
  
(Paul Simon, Patterns)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
